Terrible Beauty Born
by eisceire
Summary: Deryn & Alek are thrown into a crisis in the British homelands but it is more dangerous than anything they've yet lived thru. It challenges all their beliefs & makes them question if they're right for each other. Even if their bodies survive will the bond between them remain? Rated T for safety.
_**Terrible Beauty Born - Chapter One**_

 _ **Monday Morning 1st March 1915**_

 _ **Post Bellum - Dublin & London **_

It is rare indeed for Dr Barlow to escape the confines of the scientific community but for once she has achieved it. The Royal Dublin Society had insisted she take a carriage but she had insisted the driver halt at the Phoenix Park gates and wait for her there. She is entirely alone, as she wanders through the mist shrouded morning of the Irish parkland. The rustling trees and browsing deer both shimmer out of the fog dappled air like gentle ghosts.

Through a gap between two bushes the boffin catches a distant glimpse of a fab still asleep beneath a tree. It is one of the new creations that she has received reports of, intrigued she draws closer, details swim into focus as she nears it. Like all of the new fabrications she has encountered, here in Ireland, it is a fusion of beauty and utility.

The core of the fabrication is a giant of a powerful, shimmering, russet oxen but instead of a leather hide it has glistening scales like a pangolin. An indented shield curves across the top of the neck and separates body from head. The snout and muzzle are those of a prize bull but the shining black horns that project upwards and split into two are more like those of some fierce mountain deer. In size it is easily as large as the mammothines raised from extinct creatures and the boffin suspects this powerhouse has somewhat of primeval life chains in it's biology.

It is a deadly, formidable and all but invincible nemesis to any Clanker walker. The horns are perfect for tangling a walker to the ground or carving it open. The shield and scales make it proof against the worst that any walker might bring against it. Had these been available during the conflict the war might have ended many months sooner and the Clankers would have been left in no doubt as to the superiority of fabrications.

Dr Barlow's eyes gleam with appreciation as she approaches; but she is distracted by a noise in the distance. It sounds all too like a clanker mechanism, but all she can see, at the edge of the misty horizon, is something that looks like a giant caterpillar sinking into the ground.

The boffin shrugs, she has no time for fog dreams, she intends to make the most of her luck, that the oxenhorn hasn't woken up yet. She is so close now she could easily flick a stone onto it's back and wake it … but this animal will never wake again. Seen up close the indestructible scales are all but flayed off of it and internal organs hang out in grisly trails. In places the carcass bubbles and smokes as if dipped in acid.

Dr Barlow has no time at all to react to the horrific sight. Alarmingly, a gangling form wrapped in a cloak steps out abruptly from behind a tree. It speaks to her oddly as if each word is being jolted from it, like shots fired from a cannon.

« Are — You — Doc -Tor — Bar - Low. »

« Yes I am; as I'm sure you know, if you've gone to the trouble to arrange this elaborate farrago. »

« Then — You — Are — Who — Myself — Was — Sent — For — So — Myself — Will — Take — You. »

The man flings his cloak aside and he is no man but what you would get if you boiled a man down to parched leather. A sallow, bilious, parchment-like skin clings so tightly that it outlines every bone and vein. The long arms hang down as far as the knees and each has two elbows. The hood falls back from the head and it is a spiked and shrunken ball that resembles nothing but a toothy conker, the eyes, nose, ears and mouth are puckers in the slick flesh. The bare feet that support it are the three-toed claws of a bird

Dr Barlow is transfixed by this worst of Darwinist nightmares and makes no move to flee or to defend herself. One skeletal arm lashes out with whiplash speed and clawed fingers lock around her neck. The lady boffin is easily lifted off the ground. Her bowler hat topples from off her head, as she dangles in the abomination's grip. It tightens the stranglehold on her neck till she lapses unconscious.

For all of the omens Dr Barlow isn't dead … even though her circumstances very much resemble hell. She comes to with an aching throat, a throbbing head and incipient nausea from the rocking of the coach she is now in. It is speeding along with all of the blinds drawn, she has no idea of how long she was comatose or the least notion of where she is or where she might be headed.

Dr Barlow has only opened her eyes the merest crack. Finding there is nothing useful to learn with her eyes, the boffin does her best to appear as if she is still out cold. Her brain is at furnace heat however, as she goes over the events of the last two days and struggles to understand how she could have fallen so deeply into a trap. Like any situation the roots of this one stretch back far beyond the last two days but the crux had to be that meeting at Fortnum and Mason. … … …

Being close relative to the legendary Darwin certainly had benefits when Dr Barlow cared to call on them. There were very few people indeed who could get the exclusive use of Fortnum and Mason's celebrated penthouse balcony and even fewer who could commandeer it without any reservation. Dr Barlow thought nothing of it and neither did her companion,. The famous view of the palace seen across Green Park meant as little to either of them. All they had eyes for was for each other.

The waitress who bustled in and out to attend on them did her utmost to be professional and maintain her demeanour. It was almost impossible to do so in the storm-charged atmosphere that surrounded the two female boffins. It did nothing for the young girl's nerves that a detachment of soldiers was lurking in she shadows outside the balcony doors. They had arrived with Dr Barlow and it was plain the other woman in the room was meant to know nothing of them. Not at least until Dr Barlow chose. It was the senior boffin that was speaking now. Dr Barlow gestured with her teacup.

« Anastasia or Gottschalk. Either of those names should have put you near the top of any conventional list. However, when I received the list of possible assistants for me, your name and those of all the other female candidates was on an appendix. That prejudice hasn't gone away; not in all the years you've been my most brilliant protégé. What is it that possesses you to exacerbate the situation at every turn? »

« Ada! I'm a scientist not a politician. What do they want from me? Yes! I could have wasted my time and energy dancing to their tune; then we'd have lost the war. You know it and they should know it if they have any sense. It was only our collaboration that spared the world the horrors of a global pandemic. And none of that counts for anything! Because I dare to think and speak for myself they would cast me off like a worn horseshoe. »

Dr Gottschalk stabs an accusing hand in the direction of the palace. Dr Barlow levels a long stare at the building then turns back to gaze calmly at her amanuensis.

« I am aware of that Ana and, contrary to your fears, the Admiralty and our various masters have listened to me when I've conveyed your value to them. I've ensured they're aware that the credit for defeating the global flu pandemic is as much yours as it is mine. My reports leave them in no doubt as to your unique gift for creating battle fabrications

Dr Barlow sweeps a hand towards the distant palace and the barely visible parliament buildings.

« Nobody of any consequence can deny you sole credit for the flechette bats or disregard how much of a hand you've had in so much else that won us the war. It is that and your persistent utility that has kept you safe but it will not last. The war has ended and the Influenza Pandemic is over. In this lull your critics are finding ample opportunity to challenge your standing. »

« So they'll only tolerate a lady boffin for as long as she can produce toys for their childish games. As soon as they've their packed their tedious war back in the drawer and they aren't scared of a cold then they have no use for us either. You know as well as anybody that not one single line of my research has been questioned from the moment that war became a cloud on the horizon till today. Are the hypocrites going to condemn me now? »

« Ana! Please restrain your polemic and spleen, you know how much I hate to see you squander your gifts in tantrums. I am not going to reopen our debate on using human life chains, no matter how much you bait me. All I'm concerned about is your personal wellbeing. You know very well that your probing into human life chains would never have been tolerated in calmer times. You've only stayed safe because you were so valuable to the war effort and in the crisis afterwards »

« Ada! Do you know what they call us? Bah! I know that you do. "Chainrunners" that's what we are and now you want me to run? Is that what you're saying. Why should I be the one to flee? I've done nothing wrong. I've produced no fabs with human life chains. »

« Ana! We both know equally well that you're splitting hairs. Certainly you haven't "produced" any chainrunner fabrications and I've been careful not to look too closely at your lab notes and experiments. Nobody except you knows how close you've come to crossing the line. That remains a matter for your conscience »

« And why should it concern anyone else? My lab is my business. Let them say I'm a devil of a chainrunner using human life chains in my experiments. They're free to throw around whatever accusations they wish. They can spout whatever drivel they like but that's all it is, wasted words and hot air. »

« It is far more than that Ana. Do you suppose it is a coincidence that every scientist that I've sent across to the Irish Establishments has been one of your cohorts. They aren't protected by being a genius, not in the way you've been so far. The only reason that nobody has been indicted to date is that I've managed to keep one step ahead of the witch hunters. »

« Hah! A fine term for them Ada! But what has your meddling really achieved? All you've managed to do is build a Gottschalk colony over in Ireland. Well! If you say I can't stay in London safely I'll be glad to join them over there. »

« I am so very sorry Ana but Churchill has forbidden that. I've received a direct order to isolate you from the entire British Scientific Establishment. Oh Ana, the truth is they wanted me to hand over all of your papers, your work and yourself into Admiralty custody. The best compromise that I could achieve was to have you exiled back to your homeland, back to Austria. »

« Oh yes! Now the war is over. Now the flu is done. Now I'm not needed. The only Lady Boffin left is going to be you. How very convenient for you. But I swear this My Old Friend. I'll find more power in Austria than I've ever had here. »

Dr Gottschalk thrust her chair back, sprang to her feet and slapped the palms of both hands down flat on the tabletop, so hard that all the crockery rattled. She leant forward and glared at Dr Barlow.

« If you think the Irish Question is hard now just you wait till my chainrunners over in Dublin reinvent fabrications. England will have no chance at all when she is facing an army of human life chains. I suppose my guards are outside that door? I won't say Goodbye. Rest assured you will see me again. »

With that Dr Gottschalk had snatched up her bowler hat and crammed it onto her head. She, marched out of the door, off the balcony and out of Dr Barlow's life. For all of the pain of losing her protégé and her friend what cut Dr Barlow the deepest was that she had almost destroyed her own career in winning this much concession for Anastasia and it had been thrown back in her face.

Whatever about that, Anastasia's words had set alarm bells clanging inside Dr Barlow's head. Was there really an anarchist colony of chainrunners in Ireland and building a nest of human life chain fabrications? It would have been best to wait for Deryn and Alek to return from their latest mission and send them off but there absolutely wasn't any time to waste. An expedition had to be rushed into place while Anastasia Gottschalk was under guard and en route to Austria.

For that brief time the Irish chainrunners would be unwarned and have their guard down. It was tempting to keep Anastasia detained for as long as it took to conduct an orderly expedition but the length of silence would have been a warning in itself. But it wasn't any strategy that stayed Dr Barlow's hand: even now she was ruled by concern for her longtime friend and colleague. Dr Barlow feared that, if she had Anastasia detained (however temporarily), then Churchill would make that detention permanent.

That was why Dr Barlow had penned a hasty note and left it with a trusty associate. For her own self the lady boffin had arranged for a military cutter to fly her to Dublin as quickly as possible. She had arrived yesterday evening and taken the time for a good night of sleep. By the morning Anastasia would still only be on a train speeding across the continent.

Which is why Dr Barlow had felt secure to take her morning stroll which is turning out so badly. Dr Barlow is still slumping in the corner of the coach and feigning to be unconscious. She almost wishes she was, as all she can conclude is that she was unlucky enough to be spotted and watched from the moment she got to Dublin. That argues for an intimidating level of capability.

She hopes that Deryn and Alek get here soon and she even more hopes that they'll be at their very best. Anything less than that and Ireland will be lost … as will her own life.

 **o0O¥O0o**

 _Kay so we'll see where this fic goes! The idea Is that if Westerfeld ended his war in 1915 then the timing, pacing & happening of lots things would be very other. One of them is the Irish Easter Rising of 1916 which in Real Life did happen in the middle of a World War but not so in Leviathan Universe._

 _This fic could not have been made without the savage anniversary celebrations of The Rising in Dublin this year. Where your humble author was marching in parades & putting a finger to authority. Wanna see me? Check out the Palestine Solidarity Banners. ^_^_

 _This note belongs later but let me put it in while ref is handy: "Sinister scheme hatched by British Intelligence to stop him [Casement] attaining martyrdom upon his execution in 1916." An effort that has totally failed in 2016. Ref: "The Amazon Journal of Roger Casement" by Angus Mitchell 1997_

 _The Dark Angel of my cover is a photo from Glasnevin Cemetery just by the old gateway to the Dublin Botanic Gardens. Look for them in the fic. No I don't know why those two need linked & I'm damn sure not asking._

 _Anastasia Gottschalk is an OC of Clevingerrr & the epic fic Between Two Giants which you really should read. You'll find it on FFN easy enough. I'm lucky too to have Clevingerrr as Beta to polish this chapter into a decent read._


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